


Master

by Writeous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Character Death, Deathly Hallows Fix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writeous/pseuds/Writeous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was the only one who could defeat Voldemort. The only one who held that kind of power over him. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master

"Tell me one last thing," said Harry. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"

Dumbledore beamed at him. "Of course this is happening inside of your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Harry watched him turn, take one step, two, before fading into the smoky white station. He took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do. He had decided it long ago, he now realized. Harry knew he couldn't leave his friends behind. He was the only one who could beat Voldemort, the only one who held the power over him.

He gazed up at the hazy ceiling. Though he would miss the calm and quiet…

Harry sighed, his breath billowing up in front of him. He blinked slowly once, and then turned. He could already feel his consciousness slipping off into the real world, leaving this plane of peaceful reality.

That all stuttered to a stop as he felt a bony hand fall on his shoulder. Unable to help himself, he let out a mangled cry of pain. The hand was cold, colder than anything he had ever felt, colder than anything could ever possibly be. Beyond the triple negatives, beyond anything that could exist. Harry crumbled, ice cutting through him.

The figure behind the hand laughed from above him. Not a cheery laugh, oh no, but a dark, heavy one that filled the room and made Harry feel sick.

With a grunt of effort, Harry pushed himself back to his feet, swaying slightly. He glared at the figure with all strength he could muster.

The figure looked on in amusement, an ugly giggle leaving him. Its face was shadowed by a black cloak that pooled in an oily mess at its feet. The figure's hands were the only part of it visible, and they were sickeningly gray and crooked. The figure reminded Harry of a dementor, and he took a step away from it.

He cleared his throat, which was suddenly dry. "Who… are… you?" His voice came out haltingly, and he inwardly cursed.

The figure paused, becoming still, almost frozen in place. And then, with one hand, he slid his hood down.

Harry stared on in shock, stumbling back. "Dad?" He'd seen his father only hours, or minutes, or however time was measured here, before, but that was with the Resurrection Stone. This was different. He looked solid and real and alive, his glasses askew and a twitching smile on his lips.

But his hazel eyes were dull, almost see-through. Harry hesitated, taking a step forward. "Dad? Are you… are you okay?"

It was beyond eerie, his father, his dead father, grinning at him cheekily, with eyes that had seen hell fifty times over. His smile was wide, and his words were stretched and hollow as he said, "Why would I be, son? What's okay about death?"

Harry gawked at him. His father's smile was unwavering, but the subtle twitching around his eyes let his real emotions show through. "What?" Harry whispered.

"You heard me, Harry." His father shook his head in apparent bemusement. "You should learn to listen when people talk to you. Respect your elders," he added.

Harry raised an eyebrow, putting some distance between his father and himself. "Right…" He glanced around. Was it just him, or was this place more blurred than before? "So… why are you here, again?"

James laughed; his haunted eyes hard. "Why wouldn't I be here, Harry? I've come to wish my favorite son farewell!"

"Farewell?" Harry questioned. "Didn't you just say, back in the forest…?" The details were becoming vague, in Harry's mind. "That you'd always be with me. In here?" He gestured half-heartedly to his chest.

The corners of his father's smile jerked downward for a moment before springing back up. "Of course, Harry," he said, "but that, you see, was when you were alive."

Harry's heart stopped. "What… what do you mean?"

James's features finally morphed to match his dead eyes. "What has Dumbledore been teaching you these days, Harry?" As he spoke, his voice became cracklier, his complexion paling, he grew taller, so much so that Harry had to crane his neck up to keep eye-contact. "But wait," he mused, "that old fool is dead."

Harry's back hit a wall that he swore had not been there a moment before. His 'father's' face had elongated; his glasses melting back into his features. His skin became dark gray, and his eyes suddenly matched his cloak. "Who are you?" Harry could barely hear his own voice.

A mocking smirk touched the figure's lips. "I think you know, boy."

Harry gaped at the figure, before it hit him. "You're… You're Death, aren't you?"

The figure, Death, laughed. "Yes, boy. I am Thanatos, Aeron, Anubis, Yama, and Mictian. But above all, I am Death. " Death snarled. "I am Death, Master of All, idiot child."

Harry said nothing to the insult, and instead asked the question he was dreading the answer to. "Why are you here?"

Death laughed in a cold, heartless way that made Voldemort sound like a child. "I've noticed you have a love for pointless questions."

Apprehension rose up in Harry's throat. "Are you here for… me?" His mouth was dry, his tongue sandpaper.

Death was amused. "Did you really think, The Boy Who Lived, that I'd let you escape a second time? Dumbledore was an old fool, thinking that precious love could save you." Death drew himself up, cracking and creaking as he did so, as if all of his bones were snapping, one by one. He melded into the rapidly darkening room. "But not this time."

Harry felt like a razor sharp dagger had stabbed him, because then he was screaming, and the pain was too much… too much…

And the great Harry Potter fell.

The worst part, Harry had long ago decided, was that he could watch, watch everything and do nothing.

He watched The Battle of Hogwarts carry on, through all the days that followed. He saw them fighting, and saw them, one after the other fall to the rising darkness of Death. He knew that, and he felt it, because with a harsh pull in his chest, they joined him.

Hagrid, struck down by the combined forces of a dozen Death Eaters in continuous streaks of neon light.

Mrs. Weasley, shot in the back by Yaxley as she dueled Bellatrix.

Padma, taken down as she fought to protect her injured twin.

Seamus, fighting back to back with Dean, out-numbered.

Kingsley, distracting Death Eaters so the wounded could be taken to be treated.

McGonagall, in a vengeful fury for her murdered comrades.

Ginny, fiery hair darkened by blood as she fought Bellatrix single-handedly.

Hermione, she and Ron leading the charge at Voldemort, and taking the spell.

All he could do was watch uselessly as his friends, his true family, were struck down. He watched as Voldemort rose over the ashes, watched as Ron and Neville and all of the survivors tried one last ditch effort to drive him off. Saw the last of the hope, of the life, leave their faces with one blinding green flash.

He saw Voldemort's regime of fear and hatred return, saw him take over the rest of Europe, and then the Americas and Asia and Africa and eventually the rest of the globe. He saw many wizards, witches, and even Muggles lay down their lives to try and stop him.

But he was unstoppable.

He watched as many more Horcruxes sprang up, Voldemort's soul splitting ruthlessly, watched him live while his followers died, watched him as the last man standing, watched him laugh as he realized he was truly alone in the world.

He watched Death grind his teeth in anger, watched him lash out at the one true man who could withstand him. But even he, even Death, could not stop him.

Because, Harry realized, while Death was the Master of All, he was not Master of Death.


End file.
